


Castiel Rides a Bus

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8x17 fic where Castiel is on the bus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel Rides a Bus

Castiel forces his eyes away from the bag that he’s been itching to unzip yet again to make sure the tablet is still inside. It’s ridiculous to think it wouldn’t be since the bag has not left his possession since he placed the tablet inside; there’s no plausible way it can go missing since neither Castiel’s eyes or hands have left it for long, and yet….  
  
“So what’s your story?”  
  
Castiel looks up from the bag again. He has been toying with the zipper unconsciously, and he wonders how long he’s been doing that, such a human thing. The person who’s spoken to him is a man with wrinkles drawn deep into his russet colored skin and watery dark eyes trained first on the bag and then on Castiel. Castiel has a wild, irrational notion to smite the man for laying eyes on his charge. Thankfully he understands this thought is wrong before he can act on it. The man beside him has an altruistic soul, though it’s laced with pain. A nanosecond later and Castiel gleans that this man’s name is Gerard Brewing, that his faith is fathomless in nature, that he has a daughter who is an immense source of pride for him and who’s attending college in Oregon, that there’s cancer in his lungs that’s inching closer and closer to his heart.  
  
“You don’t have to humor me,” Gerard says before a coughing fit overtakes him. Castiel sees the way it rattles his lungs, each bronchi covered in tumors trembling and shivering. The moment the paroxysm passes, Gerard relaxes into his chair, trying to put up a brave front and stop his shoulders from shaking. His liver-spotted hand reaches up to massage his chest; the fingers of his hand are deformed. “Just thought you could use a distraction. I know I sure could. But you don’t have to tell me.”  
  
Castiel thinks about it for a moment longer, then says, “I ran away.” For some reason, it feels good to confess this, and more words come spilling out of his mouth. “My friend and I… had a fight of sorts.” He knows not to complicate it further because humans to not understand things like angels and mind control, even though they have plenty of each depicted in their movies and their books. His experience with Dean while they were searching for Raphael taught him this.  
  
“I understand running away, son,” Gerard says. “But is that really the best course of action? I know for the longest time I refused to acknowledge my cancer, and now here I am staring Death in the face. My daughter told me that if only I’d seen a doctor sooner I’d be able to see her get married, see my grandchildren. But I was a stubborn fool. Take it from an old man: running away only makes things worse.”  
  
Castiel can’t explain to the man that he’s doing this for Dean’s own good. If Dean gets the tablet translated, he’s going to want to complete the trials Castiel has reason to believe are etched into the stone. And if Naomi had been right, Dean perhaps might be the only human capable of closing Heaven for good. Castiel has seen what is happening to Sam now that he’s putting himself on the line to close the Gates of Hell, and though Castiel should not favor one human - let alone one brother - over another, he knows that if Dean becomes fundamentally altered undergoing the Angel Tablet’s trials, Castiel will never forgive himself.  
  
Put simply, “I’m doing this to protect him.” Dean, of course, would argue that they shouldn’t be hiding things from each other, that they should be working together and communicating effectively with each other. Castiel doesn’t like keeping things from Dean, especially knowing what doing so has caused them in the past, but he knows how stubborn Dean will be about completing the Angel Tablet’s trials by himself. Castiel won’t let him do it, and the only way to do that is to take the tablet far away.  
  
Gerard is giving Castiel an odd look, one that he can’t decipher. “What are you protecting him from, son?”  
  
Himself, angels, Naomi, pain.  
  
Before Castiel can voice one of these, Gerard is continuing. “If you’re protecting him from heartache, let me tell you that’s not going to work. After I learned of my cancer, I didn’t dare tell my daughter because I was afraid. Don’t know what of, if I was afraid of her not seeing me as this perfect father or if I was afraid of thinking that I’d failed her. I just told her I had pneumonia. Now look at me! Things’re worse than ever because I was a stubborn fool.” Coughs rack his body again. This time, Castiel sees blood on the man’s fist. Gerard surreptitiously wipes his hand on his pants. “Don’t make my mistakes, son. Talk to this boy, work out your differences. Let me tell you, he’ll appreciate it much better.”  
  
Castiel thinks about this. Dean would say the same thing, if not in so many words. There is a painful truth in Gerard’s wisdom. Castiel just can’t take his advice.  
  
“Thank you,” he says. His hand rests on Gerard’s shoulder, and he lets loose a tendril of healing grace to alleviate the man’s cancer. Such a kind person with so much to teach doesn’t deserve an untimely and tormenting end like the one Gerard is facing. Gerard flinches only slightly, but Castiel can see that he’s rationalizing the jolt of the touch to static electricity. The wrinkled hand reaches up to rub his chest again; Castiel sees that his fingernails look normal, and he smiles.  
  
“Tell me about your daughter,” Castiel invites.


End file.
